


something good waitin' down this road

by defcontwo



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Team Hawkguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeyes' House Rules for Dog Ownership and Other Misadventures. Or: Clint, Kate, a dog, and a study in moving forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something good waitin' down this road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinky_kneazle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle/gifts).



> Dearest Recipient! I hope that you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it (spoiler: a lot!). Have a great holiday season!

There’s a lot of things that draw the eye in Clint Barton’s kitchen. The arrows strewn haphazardly along the countertop where bowls of fruit would normally be. The overworked coffee pot and the coffee stains that somehow manage to be everywhere. The fact that almost every mug in the cabinet is purple because Clint believes that there’s no such thing as too much purple, and Kate only ever enables him.

The newest addition to the already cluttered kitchen is a piece of paper (purple) attached smack dab to the middle of the refrigerator by too many magnets.

 _Hawkeyes’ House Rules for Dog Ownership_.

(+)

Here’s the thing.

He’s never had a dog before. Not in the traditional sense of ownership, just like he never had roots, a home, a place to stay not just for a few weeks but for months, years at a time.

There was a short time in his youth when a mutt found its way into the carnival. It was a mangy old thing who loved running off with Clint’s equipment and who almost everyone else complained about in half-hearted grumblings about fleas and mouths to feed.

One of the acrobats also took a liking to the dog because he was the type of person who took a liking to all things with relative ease, and he and Clint would take turns slipping the mutt food and water. They never did get around to naming him and eventually, once the carnival packed up and moved on, the dog got left behind.

He had shrugged, all false bravado, when his brother found out and teased him about it, and waited until his brother walked away to do some chores before letting his eyes burn. They were always leaving things behind, him and his brother, running ever faster away in any direction that would take them.

There are days when he thinks of that dumb dog and aches with a nostalgia that he can't quite pin down, but it’s not the same as the hurt that comes with thinking of his brother. It’s a bright spot to hold onto. He remembers the image of the mutt with an arrow in its mouth, looking sneakier than any sleight of hand carnie could manage, and the memory still makes him laugh every time.

So, he’s never had a dog before but he’s always liked the idea of a dog. In his mind, they’ve always been indelibly linked to better times - to happiness.

He just has no fucking idea how to take care of one.

(+)

“Katie,” Clint hisses into the telephone receiver. “Katie, something’s wrong with Arrow.”

“We’re not seriously calling the dog that, are we?” Kate says, yawning into the phone, and Clint is reminded suddenly that it is four-thirty in the morning and he might be concerned about all of the ways that Kate would plot revenge for this if he wasn’t too busy freaking the fuck out.

“He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes,” Clint whisper-yells, realizing that he’s not quite impressing upon her the severity of the situation.

“You know that dogs sleep too, right?” Kate says, sounding more alert and he can hear the concern hidden beneath her dismissive tone, and his affection for her grows all the more.

“Well, yeah, but - hold on,” Clint says, cradling the phone between his head and his shoulder as he creeps closer to the dog. “Oh thank God. I can see him breathing.” Clint drops to the ground unceremoniously next to the dog, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Hey, Katie? Maybe we should call him Lucky. How’s that sound?”

“Isn’t that name kind of tempting fate with our lives?” Kate says, yawning through her words.

“Hush, girly-girl. It has a nice ring to it. I think it suits him.”

It suits all of them, he thinks but doesn’t say, this trio held together by duct tape and determination and a hell of alot of target practice. They are lucky enough to have made it this far, to be doing what they’re doing, and to still be mostly happy and whole.

“Barton? I’m gonna hang up on you now,” Kate says and he doesn’t even register the click, too caught up in his thoughts.

Clint reaches a hand out and scratches behind Lucky’s ear, taking a minute to unwind and laugh at himself for his moment of irrational panic. Lucky twitches and awakens, eyeing Clint with a doleful look.

“Sorry, buddy. I guess I’m just - well. Me and successful cohabitation are not good pals.”

Lucky just looks at him and Clint becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’s attempting to have a too-personal heart-to-heart with his dog.

“Well, “ he says to the darkened room, “at least I realize that I’m a disaster of a human being. That’s half the battle, right?”

_Rule #1: Try not to panic._

(+)

Here’s what Clint thought he’d see when he walked through his front door: Nothing.

Blessed nothing. Lucky would be curled up sleeping on the floor and he could kick off his shoes and abandon his gear and collapse on the couch, and take a nap.

He can’t collapse on his couch. His couch is currently occupied by a miserable looking Kate Bishop who has all of the blankets he owns piled on top of her and his traitorous dog sleeping at her feet.

“Katie?” Clint says, trying not to make any sudden movements. He remembers, distantly, that time he snuck up on a flu-ridden Luke Cage and how deeply he had regretted that decision for many days to come.

He’s not sure who’s scarier between Kate and Luke, but he’s pretty sure it’s a close call.

“I’m dying,” Kate says.

Clint snorts before he can help himself. “You’re not dying.”

He flips on the light switch in the living room and peers a little closer. “Wait. You’re not actually dying, right? This isn’t like an alien virus or whatever. Don’t tell me this is a Skrull thing because I am not good with Skrull things.”

Kate glares. It’s sullen and not very effective and a whole lot adorable. “It’s not a Skrull thing. I have the flu.”

“And you’re here instead of at home being waited on hand and foot because...?”

Kate shrugs, looking uncomfortable, and Clint is suddenly struck by how young she looks surrounded by all of those blankets. It’s a superhero thing, he knows. We all have demons in our past. He doesn’t know what Kate’s are, she’ll tell him when she’s ready - he only knows that it’s the sort of thing that makes it easier for her to be here on his shitty couch instead of home alone on the Upper East Side.

“Hot and sour soup?”

“Yes, please,” Kate says, “And buy some dog food while you’re at it? I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find any.”

“Uh.”

“What?”

“What kind should I get?”

Kate arches an eyebrow. “You have bought him dog food before, right?”

“Uh, no?”

“So, he’s been eating...”

“...Pizza?”

“Pizza,” Kate says flatly.

“Hey, he likes it!”

“He opened up his mouth and told you, then. In English and everything? I didn’t know those collars from Up were real.”

“Top secret SHIELD technology,” Clint quips back. “All right. Hot and sour soup and dog food. Anything else? My first born?”

“Nah, that’ll do it,” Kate says, yawning and looking for all the world as if she’s about to fall asleep.

“This was supposed to be my nap time, you know,” Clint huffs at the room’s occupants. Neither of them are paying him any attention.

\---

Thirty minutes later, Clint lets himself back into the house, a bag of Purina dog food in one hand and Chinese take out in the other.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauties. Food’s here.”

Lucky jumps off the couch at the sound of the food hitting the bottom of his bowl. “Huh," Clint says, watching Lucky eat with the sort of enthusiasm only shown by dogs and small children. "Maybe there’s something to this whole real dog food stuff.”

“Told ya, dummy!” Kate calls from over the top of the couch, only the top of her head visible from within her blanket fort.

Clint shakes his head fondly. “Try that one again when you’re feeling better. The minimum power Bishop sass doesn’t have quite the same effect on me.”

Kate makes room for him on the couch as he brings in the Chinese take out.

“Kung pao chicken for the heroic Clint Barton and hot and sour soup for you, the sort of pale and scary-looking Kate Bishop.”

It says a lot about how sick she is that Kate doesn’t even try to stab him with her chopsticks.

They sit in silence for several minutes, eating their food, while Lucky slowly lumbers back in from the kitchen and collapses at their feet.

“Hey, thanks,” Kate says, breaking the silence. “For not kicking me out. And you know, the soup.”

“The soup is helping?”

“The soup is helping.”

“You were right about the dog food, Hawkeye.”

“I know I was, Hawkeye.”

_Rule #2: Get the right food._

(+)

“How’s it going back in New York?”

“You can stop callin’ every twenty minutes, bub, everything’s fine - hold up, Barton, your mutt is thirsty.”

A pop followed by a distinctive hissing sound.

“ARE YOU GIVING MY DOG BEER?”

“Yeah, why not?”

_Rule #3: Don’t let Logan dogsit._

(+)

“Hey, is it true that you have a dog now?”

Clint almost stops in his tracks, midway through reaching for another arrow. “Uh, Cap? Is this really the time for this conversation?”

Steve takes in the warzone that they’re currently knee deep in, surrounded by Skrulls on all sides, and shakes himself. “I’ve been around you people for too long. Okay, back to work, Avengers.”

Clint can see Natasha shaking her head at Cap from a distance before gleefully jumping a Skrull from behind.

“Getting chatty in the field, that’s usually my MO, Cap,” Clint calls out, motioning for Sam to help him get to higher ground. It’s the only way he’ll feel comfortable in this fight because again: _not good with Skrull things_.

Cap studiously ignores him and Clint laughs but the sound gets lost as the wind whips around him as Sam flies him up to a nearby rooftop.

Many hours later, the battle long over and their wounds mostly patched up, Cap sits down next to Clint in the Quinjet.

“So. A dog?”

Steve has that look on his face. Iron Man used to joke around that it was the Captain America Boy Scout Face but Clint’s always thought that was missing the mark. It’s just that Steve cares too much, he always has, it’s that unique quality that makes him who he is - the kind of guy who takes time after an alien battle to ask after a friend’s life.

He’s always wondered if Steve was like this before he woke up and discovered that he’d lost everything, or if he’s trying to make up in leaps and bounds for the life that he lost.

“Yeah, a dog.” Clint huffs a laugh. “You could say he has me, sometimes. It’s a long story.”

“Trained and everything, huh?”

“Uh,” Clint says. “Sure, I guess?”

“You don’t know?”

“There’s a place around the corner from my apartment. Community center, I’ve seen flyers for dog training lessons there. Thought of maybe stopping by some time.”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “That sounds nice.”

\---

“Come on, dude, that training lesson starts in ten minutes. You’re not gonna learn anything sleeping on the couch watching re-runs of Golden Girls.”

Lucky doesn’t move.

“I told Captain America I was doing this and he’s gonna ask me about it and if we don’t, I’ll have to lie to him and I _hate_ lying to Captain America.”

Lucky jumps down from the couch and pads over to where Clint is waiting by the door. “Huh. So Captain America has that effect on everyone, then.”

\---

“Before we get to the lessons, I’d like us to first go around in a circle and get to know each other a little.”

The man leading the session claps his hands together and looks out at all of them with a cheery smile that quite honestly, is freaking Clint out a little. Alien? Wouldn’t rule it out.

“Like, say our names and stuff, or....?” The question comes from a skeptical looking woman in her mid twenties with a corgi sitting at her feet.

“Names, how your dog came into your life, how you feel about them. Whatever you feel like sharing. I’ve found that it’s a necessary part of the process,” the man says.

The Corgi Lady scrunches up her face. Clint feels a kinship with her immediately because _what the hell_.

Look, he knows that he’s not exactly the most emotionally well rounded guy around. He tries but mostly his idea of trying never quite shapes up the he wants it to. But knowing that does not translate into a willingness to share and care with complete strangers.

That and the story of how he got Lucky isn’t really “kosher for the public” material.

Lucky makes a low growling sound. Even after all these months, he’s still not completely comfortable around people who aren’t Hawkeye-shaped, and Clint’s starting to get that this is another one of his Bad Ideas.

“Let’s start with you, the man in purple with the _very_ opinionated friend.”

“Uh.” Clint says. He looks down at Lucky. The dog is zero help whatsoever. “Did you hear that? Were those sirens? I should go check that out.”

Clint stands up quickly and mutters “run, Lucky, run,” out of the corner of his mouth.

The two of them make a break for it, jogging awkwardly out of the auditorium and into the light.

“Well, that was weird,” Clint says, leaning back against the doorway. “But hey, you followed my lead. You don’t need training. Maybe we don’t tell Cap about this though, yeah?”

Lucky nudges at the coat pocket that Clint sometimes keeps dog food bits in, clearly unconcerned.

“Yup, I’m still talking to the dog like he’s gonna respond. Miiiiight want to look into that.”

_Rule #4: Stay away from the creepy community center training dude._

(+)

The front door slams open and shut, accompanied by the sound of Lucky’s excited jumping around.

“Katie, that you?” Clint calls out from the sofa, which he is determined not to move from for the rest of the night. He’s still got a busted rib and a few bruises in unmentionable places from his latest mission. This is a night off well earned.

“Yup, brought all of the essentials.”

“Pizza?”

“And beer,” Kate says triumphantly, leaning against the doorway into the living room, brandishing a pizza box in one hand and a six pack of Magic Hat in the other.

“How did you - “

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, old man,” Kate says. “So, Dog Cops?”

“Dog Cops,” Clint confirms.

They settle into their usual positions, food and beer and feet propped up on the coffee table and Lucky between them on the couch, looking avidly towards the tv screen.

“Do you suppose he has a crush on one of the dogs in the show?”

Kate gives him a sidelong look. “You’re such a weirdo,” she says, before cramming a slice of pizza into her mouth.

“We should add this to the rules. Something about Dog Cops.”

“How is that a rule? ‘The Hawkeyes decree that Dog Cops must always be on’. We could get sick of that rule pretty quickly. Do you want to ruin the magic of Dog Cops?”

“Dog Cops for special occasions?”

A night when neither of them has a disaster to avert is rare enough that it counts as a special occasion for Team Hawkeye, Clint figures.

Kate shrugs. “Works for me.”

“How about you, Lucky, that work for you?”

Lucky begins to bark at the dogs on the screen.

“Yeah, he’s still not gonna start talking back to you, Clint.”

“Shush.”

_Rule #5: Dog Cops Marathons for Special Occasions Only._

(+)

Clint has spent a lot of time thinking about the things that he’s lost over the years. The relationships that have fallen apart and the homes that he never really had. He knows that there will still be moments when he wakes from a nightmare and Barney will be the first thing on his mind. Just like there will be times when Bobbi’s name pops into his head as the first person to call in a crisis, like a reflex that can’t be unlearned.

But he’s trying not to look back so much anymore.

This is what he’s got now. He’s got an apartment building that isn’t half bad and a building full of tenants that are even better. He’s got a partner who’s going to be better than he ever was in a few years’ time and he couldn’t be prouder.

And he’s got Lucky, who likes watching Dog Cops a bit too much, and who drools all over his couch in the meantime.

It’ll do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to the rad people who helped this fic take shape: 
> 
> \+ my partner in crime Charyse, who inspires me every day by saying things like "I want a dog so I can put a pizza on it." 
> 
> \+ [liveonthesun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/liveonthesun) and [lariagwyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lariagwyn) who beta'd, you two are the best. 
> 
> \+ and of course, Matt Fraction and David Aja for creating this awesome comic that I'm playing around in.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [something good waitin' down this road [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/637261) by [Wesle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wesle/pseuds/Wesle)
  * [let's hear it for america's suiteheart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806199) by [gossamernotes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamernotes/pseuds/gossamernotes)




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